Knife Party
by ev1l-ch1b1-urd
Summary: Around season 6-7. Spike introspection about how he feels about his 'thing' with Buffy.


Knife Party. A Buffy the Vampire Slayer fic. All standard disclaimers apply.

Because we are the ones who allow our loved ones to hurt us.

And because Spike and Buffy DESERVE a Deftones Songfic. for the link to listen to it, try: youtube . com/watch?v=-E94VH4ssac. song and video aren't mine, tho i love it.

don't forget to remove the spaces, before trying the link. sorry. it was the only way it would allow me to post it. .

…...

**my knife it's sharp and chrome  
come see inside my bones**

He wasn't quite sure of the hows or the whys, but at the moment, it doesn't really matter. She is here, and they stare daggers at each other. She, with a derisive quip at the tip of her tongue. He, mocking smirk, daring her to take action.

He knows what she comes here for. And while what's behind that mask of bravado was certainly flattering to the ego, it would have been better if didn't hurt like a bitch.

Then again, maybe that was held the attraction to him.

**all of the fiends are on the block**

She pushes him against the wall, as their lips meet. There is nothing soft and sweet about it. Hands claw at clothes now seemingly too restrictive. His fangs nick her mouth a little and the metallic tang only heightens a feeling he can only identify as hunger (body, emotion, he could no longer separate one from the other) feeding him in all the ways it shouldn't.

**I'm the new king  
I'll take the queen**

As the kiss deepens, becomes more fierce, as the world fades...the insistent clamoring of this...need this addiction swallows them whole.

He smirks a little as he inwardly wonders if the world has gone mad, mad, mad.

**cause in here  
we are all anemic**

The taste of her is heady, her heartbeat, slamming against her ribcage. Nothing exists outside of this moment. He hears her breath catch, and it just goads them both further. Harder. Oblivious, even if the world ended this very moment.

**in here  
anemic and sweet so**

Fsck it. Let the world burn. This was all that mattered. This feeling that fills them both with such power and surrender.

Both having a hold over the other, unable to break this weakness that shouldn't exist.

**go get your knife,  
go get your knife  
****and come in **

Each drop of her, burning him slowly from the inside. Her skin's scent slowly mixing with his...as his own does with her.

**go get your knife,  
go get your knife  
and lay down**

This time, it is he who pushes, and he falls on top of her. Her bare skin against cold, marble tombstone, as he gives her a wolfish smile. He may have the upper hand at the moment, but she wasn't going to take this lying down.

Literally.

**go get your knife,  
go get your knife  
now kiss me**

She maneuvers, gets him off-balance, and this time, she straddles him, wearing a condescending grin.

And as it starts all over, in truth, he doesn't really mind.

**Oohhh...  
I can float here forever  
**

He was technically dead, but while he could probably contemplate where all these emotions/reactions come from, and how it all becomes a catalyst, for, well, all _THIS_...he doesn't really care.

Neither of them do.

**in this room **

**we can't touch the floor**

THIS was happening, so that reality could be shut out. This was the place where the blood of reality gets sucked by deep, pressing need/want, and logic dies a quick and painless death.

For her, at least. For as long as it lasts.

**in here  
we are all anemic**

And he needs it, too. This was the closest he could get. This was more than he had ever dared hoped for. And while in a few hours, she would go back to drowning him in the venomous vitriol that was her words, he would bear it. He would give her what she needed, over and over, because he's seen her die and if he couldn't get love, anything..._ANYTHING_ was better than nothing.

**in here **

**anemic and sweet so**

What does it matter how she uses his body? His mind? His heart? What does it matter how much her distrust and revulsion makes him bleed?

He was already hers. All of him. And there was no taking any of it back.

**go get your knife,  
go get your knife  
and come in**

He does this, knowing this is only temporary. This twisted dreamscape of blood and sweat, that was doomed from the start to end in tragedy. And while some part of him wishes he could stop, be responsible (or something), be more worthy in her eyes for not taking advantage of her...

He has never been one to listen to reason. Desire, painful, sick and desperate, will beat him into submission.

**go get your knife,  
go get your knife  
and lay down**

A whiff of her scent, knowing what she wanted. Seeing the look in her eyes, the warm softness of her skin...her mouth against his, angry and demanding. All of it. Any of it, even one, was too much to hold against.

So he runs recklessly, headlong into it, extracts every last drop of satisfaction out of it. Even if she cuts him for it, when she's through.

**go get your knife**

**go get your knife**

**and kiss...me.**

He drinks in all of her conflicts, her disgust, her weakness. He takes her to the end, over and over. He gives himself, whole, knowing she would crush it beneath her heel and spit on it. A deliciously abhorrent sin she's begun to crave guiltily.

They're both taking advantage, yet he still felt no shame.

**Ohh...i could float here forever**

And why would he? He was never the type to apologize to anyone for the person he was, even when he was still human.

**Ohh...anemic and sweet**

He has always been bad. She knows this. And she expects this from him.

**Ohh...i could float here forever**

She may lie to herself in her moments of weakness, but neither of them had any illusions about the other.

**Ohh...anemic and sweet so**

It was exquisite and tragic. In some ways, even ideal. It certainly appealed to his artistic sensibilities...

If only.

**go get your knife,  
go get your knife  
and come in **

If only, this wasn't something temporary. If only she wouldn't pull away, and hate/hurt herself when it was done.

**go get your knife,  
go get your knife  
and lay down**

If only she would accept him, and want him - all of him. Believed in him. Held him. Loved him, as a man.

Her man.

**go get your knife,  
go get your knife  
get filthy**

But he's Spike, and he's not a bloody idiot. And he refuses to lie to himself and hope for a miracle. So each rejection makes him more mercenary when she returns, and it begins all over. His feelings for her may be real, but he wasn't going to be choosy.

**go get your knife,  
go get your knife  
**

And while he knows the deal, it didn't mean he was going to give up, either. No matter how doomed it was.

And even as she leaves him with nothing more than her scent on his skin, his clothes...he knows.

Even if it meant he had to get a soul.

Even if he had to die.

Even if none of it ever amounted to nothing more than her getting a better opinion of him...

...maybe even believe in him and in his heart he had given her...

**And kiss me...**

It would be well fscking worth it.


End file.
